


Silver Bullet

by Khadgarfield



Category: Warcraft - All Media Types, World of Warcraft
Genre: Age Difference, Angst, Animal Death, Biting, Blood and Gore References, Infidelity, Kissing, M/M, Minor Violence, Non-Chronological, Rough Sex, Shadow Priest Anduin Wrynn, its complicated
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-01-15
Updated: 2021-01-15
Packaged: 2021-03-13 03:08:22
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence
Chapters: 1
Words: 14,981
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/28771374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Khadgarfield/pseuds/Khadgarfield
Summary: There's more than one way to kill a monster.
Relationships: Genn Greymane/Anduin Wrynn
Comments: 12
Kudos: 33





	Silver Bullet

## 1.

_What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?_

What indeed.

Genn Greymane lay awake under soft, warm sheets, his body aching with the burden of his age. A fit man, well kept, it wasn’t often Genn felt his years settle in his bones, but the heaviness of his conscience seemed to exaggerate the sensation as the cool dawn light spilled into the bedchamber. All the trappings of royalty were described in a cleansing bluish glow, and beside him Anduin Wrynn slept peacefully. He was Angelic, a pleasure for the eyes, even at rest.

Genn sighed, rolling over to study the boy, watching how his chest rose and fell in a pattern like the tides lapping at the shore of a placid lake. He wondered what the young King dreamed of, or if he dreamed at all. Genn’s own dreams had been plagued with the same images as always. A full moon over ancient woods. A world tree tearing up in flames. The squeal of a rabbit, torn to pieces, trapped in the maw of a demented beast.

Steeling himself against such thoughts, Genn hauled himself out of the bed. He picked up his clothes, dressed silently and fast, and slipped out of the chamber before he had even finished pulling his coat on.

He would confront Anduin later, he told himself firmly. He would confront Anduin later, and grapple with the devils that might come of it, but right now he needed breakfast and a brisk walk around the city on a frosty morning.

He needed to do something to clear his head.

## 2.

Anduin had been sparring with him long enough now, that Genn was beginning to think the whole exercise was a terrible idea. At first, it had seemed like a good way to ensure he kept up with his training while his father was away in Draenor, while simultaneously giving Genn a reason to remain active and perhaps network meaningfully with the son of his dear friend. In spite of his technical skill, however, Genn could tell the prince felt no great affinity for the sword. His movements were precise, but slightly too rigid. His stance was not powerful enough. Although he was a youth on the very cusp of adulthood, he was still slightly too small for the training weapon Genn had equipped him with.

“Put your weight behind it,” Genn told him, parrying one of his strikes effortlessly, so that he almost lost his balance. “But not too much, or you will fall over.”

“This thing weighs a tonne,” Anduin snipped, cheeks pink with barely repressed annoyance. He brandished the useless weapon in Genn’s direction, an elaborate punctuation for his complaints. “And stop telling me to do things I’m already doing.”

“You aren’t doing them – if you were, I wouldn’t be telling you.”

Anduin scoffed and turned his nose up indignantly. His hair, which was beginning to grow shaggier since his return from Pandaria, stuck in webs of blonde to the edges of his sweaty face.

“You don’t even _use_ a sword,” He said testily. “Why don’t you show me how to shapeshift instead?”

“Have you ever tried to hold a sword with claws? Just because I don’t need one anymore doesn’t mean I don’t know how to wield it better than you.”

In truth, Genn was beginning to tire of the insolent, stubborn little boy. He was fast learning that all those airs of virtue were only partial truths, at best, and he was beginning to wonder why it was that every single person who seemed to meet Anduin was so unequivocally charmed by him. There was little that was charming about the frustrated, quickly faltering swordsman before him, not his stiff posture or the sharp little downturn of disgust in the corners of his mouth. In fact, Genn thought the prince reminded him of Varian, right now. It was a side of the youth that he had never seen before, and as loathe as he was to admit it, he found him nearly contemptable.

“I must say, King Greymane, I had hoped this training would go better than it has. So far, all it has done is make me resent you.”

“You are far lippier than they say you are, your highness, and it would seem just as soft. I daresay, my feelings are reciprocal.”

A sour look passed over the boy's features. Genn wondered if maybe he had just woken up poorly this morning, or if he was always so prickly beneath a sweet exterior.

“Alright then, Genn.” He raised his training sword once more, to emphasize the use of a name rarely spoken by his lips. “we spar again?”

And resigned to disarming him again like he was a toddler brandishing a broomstick, Genn sighed deeply and raised his sword.

“On three,” He said coolly. “One. Two. Th-”

He was cut off by a sudden impact to his chest, knocked backwards by a hard fist of magic that seared with the blinding heat of the holy light. It wasn’t a particularly _hard_ strike, and on a battlefield it would have been easily deflected, but the hit took him by surprise and he stumbled backwards, his sword slipping out of his hand and thumping to the grass beneath his feet. Before he could recover, there was another strike - this one was twisted with something slightly shadowed, and it pierced his mind like a steel spike thrust into his temple. His vision darkened, and his legs gave way beneath him, and then he was on his knees on the ground with a sword point against his throat.

“Soft enough for you?” Anduin asked him, and the weight of his magic inside Genn’s skull disappeared as suddenly as it had appeared there. “Actually, don’t answer that.”

He dropped the point of the sword, but rather than stumble to his feet, Genn remained kneeling. He stared up at the young prince in utter disbelief, his voice stolen by his fury at being blindsided by this... this _priest._

 _“_ That was disgraceful,” Genn growled at him, and Anduin gave him an uninterpretable look down the bridge of a sweet, sloped nose. “You know that, don’t you?”

“All war is disgraceful,” he said, and from his lofty position Genn thought he heard the edge in his voice mute itself just a little. “I may be soft, but I know that on the frontlines no one _counts down_ before they launch an attack. You can tell me I wield a sword incorrectly as much as you please, but once you’re done you should maybe try and humble yourself once in a while. The next person you underestimate might be more skillful, and far crueler than I am.”

He thrust out a hand, silently inviting Genn to take it. Genn stared at his palm, heat rising in his cheeks, and fury surged in his gut so forcibly that he could feel the flesh on his shoulders and neck prickle with the thirst for transformation. His teeth felt too sharp in his mouth as he set his jaw, but he clasped Anduin’s hand anyway and let him pull him up again. Varian would kill him in his sleep if he so much as bruised his precious son, and it was this alone which stayed Genn from rending him.

A waft of the child’s scent rolled between them. Genn’s human senses recognised it as the subtle, honeyed perfume of goatsmilk soap, and the dense floral foliage that crept tendrils up the western side of the keep. His Worgen senses, however, could smell layers of something much richer on his skin. It wasn’t a musk yet, so much as a promise of a musk – one that would soon be heavy and narcotic, once it began to blossom in his blood. It took Genn by surprise, even more than Anduin’s magic had, and he had to swallow because for some reason, his mouth had become extremely wet.

“Terrible child,” Genn told him, and his voice trembled just a little.

“Ok fine,” Anduin sighed, and bent down to pick up Genn’s dropped sword. He straightened himself, and offered it back. “I will admit. My annoyance got the better of me for a moment there. I’m sorry. But wasn’t the idea of these matches so that you could teach me? Not tear me down over and over again.”

“Maybe I would be a better teacher if I had a better student. You clearly don’t know how to take criticism.”

“I’m often told I’m a great student, actually.”

Genn was unable to tell if he was serious or not. He eyed the boy warily, taking in his slim shoulders, his short stature, the freckles on the very tip of his nose. The expression of calm in clear blue eyes looked authentic - no shadow of his prior irritation seemed to linger, and Genn couldn’t hazard a guess as to whether that was because he was truly remorseful, or because now he had gotten what he wanted.

And what was it that he had wanted, exactly? To be afforded some degree of respect and dignity, despite his failings as an armsman? Genn suddenly felt very bad, for calling him ‘soft’. He had always been a haughty man, and he could admit as much freely about himself, but he had never thought himself the type to be harsh to a child.

Genn couldn’t shake the feeling, though, as he grunted and received the training weapon Anduin was offering him once more, that there may in fact be another reason Anduin was now willing to be patient. One that perhaps even he himself was completely unaware of. His father, Genn knew, could be reckless and aggressive. Varian was a skilled tactician, but for the most part his talents lay in force and stamina and brute strength. The prince was known to be the exact opposite – highly intelligent, extremely cunning, and ruthlessly observant. Genn pondered briefly what _else_ that holy façade may be hiding. He had not missed that faint flicker of satisfaction that had fizzled through him when their minds were locked together, when Anduin subjugated him with the lick of the void disguised as a particularly blinding display of light. There was something almost thirsty about it, something nearly zealous that rung with the hollow echo of self-righteousness.

Perhaps, Anduin Wrynn was content now because he had achieved the true purpose of any crusaders combat.

Inflicting mercy on an enemy, at whatever the cost.

## 3.

Genn didn’t find out about what he had done until it had already happened. Mathias Shaw, of course, had been the messenger. The poor fellow looked drawn and terse, aged ten years in the short span of time since the beginning of the war. His eyes were weary, his usually groomed moustache was untrimmed, and his elegant and intricate uniform seemed rumpled, as though he had cast it on the floor last night instead of hanging it on the back of the door. Genn could tell he regretted letting this information slip, before he had even finished saying it aloud.

“He did _what now_?”

“You didn’t know?” Mathias looked at him, his tone betraying surprise that of all people, Anduin had chosen to omit _Genn_ from the briefing about what he had planned to do. “I would have thought he would seek your advice before -”

“He didn’t.”

Genn felt like a cold stone had been dropped in his guts. A halcyon breeze rustled the sails of the _Wind’s Redemption_ , and beneath his feet the deck of the ship creaked and swayed peacefully. Spring was fast approaching in Boralus, and the air had the same scent as spring in Gilneas. Genn hadn't felt the hair prickle on his neck like this since he was a young man.

“Oh. Well, now you know I suppose. I was charged with removing the patrol from their posts that night. I had some misgivings but...”

The spymaster shrugged, face turning away from Genn to gaze wistfully out to sea.

“It’s a nice day today,” he said, an obvious attempt to change the subject. Genn saw the dark circles beneath his eyes grow darker still.

Saurfang had been released from captivity, by none other than the King’s hand.

Of _course_ he had.

Genn wasn’t sure how he should feel about this.

He thought it unlikely, that the Orc would return to simper at the Banshee’s feet, and he thought of all enemies, Varok Saurfang had proven to be the most noble (ironically the most _human_ ) among them. Genn had no qualms respecting an Orc of such standing, and felt a small degree of shame that Anduin would have thought he didn’t, and yet still he recognised that he had never given the boy a reason to believe he wouldn’t respond with fury. His response to Anduin’s behaviour in the leadup to the war had hardly been him at his most dignified.

Perhaps, though, Genn still would take this opportunity to succumb to a short bout of rage over the child’s defiance. Such an expression of faith in an enemy was _dangerous_ , after all, regardless of who that enemy might be. As Genn stood by the wartable and wrestled with his morality, he couldn’t help but feel his countenance darken so deeply that even the hapless champions that scurried around the boat like mice on grain gave him a wide berth and sideways glances. He felt himself becoming a brewing storm, localised to the deck of this ship in the midst of a fine spring day.

His irritation almost reached breaking point when he was torn from his thoughts by heavy footfalls, and a surge of scent that was rich and coastal and coiled with bubbling attraction. Genn recognised it as the smell of the Freebooter taken into contract with the Alliance - yet another strange judgement call, that Genn had needed to hold his tongue on.

The seaman's blood warmed when he laid eyes on Shaw, and he strode towards their table with his fist full of papers and his chest pushed forward like he was some exotic bird trying to display himself before a mate.

“Spymaster!” he called, before his eyes slid to Genn standing beside him, and his expression faltered. “And King Greymane. Fancy seeing you here!”

“I always stand here,” Genn clipped.

Mathias Shaw was too invested in discussing an upcoming mission with an adventurer, and barely even noticed the new man on deck. The pirate ( _Fairwind,_ Genn reminded himself. _His name is Captain Flynn Fairwind)_ continued to stare at Genn with wide, green blue eyes, and Genn felt himself bristle in annoyance. He wondered briefly if some time he should tell the spymaster – enlighten him to the way that Fairwind had a body that betrayed him often, far more freely than even the bodies of the wenches of Old Town. Genn could read his fancy with the same degree of ease as he could read a book, and so could any other Gilnean who stood too close. Shaw, of course, remained completely oblivious, though Genn had not missed the way that Fairwind was one of the few people capable of making the dour fellow smile.

Oh, but Genn couldn’t tell, if enlightening him would make the war more harrowing and difficult for him, or give him a taste of comfort and validation that would take the edge off. Shaw had always seemed like a sexless, emotionless man, and more than anything Genn thought he envied him for that. It must be nice, to be so free of the shackles of loyalty and emotion. So nice to not ache for company, in the midst of a lonely, cold night.

Genn swallowed a lump in his throat, forcing himself to stop pondering the personal lives of pirates and rogues, and swore he would bring up the Saurfang matter with Anduin when he saw him next. He would keep his temper, though perhaps it would be difficult, and ask him why he would keep such important information to himself. It felt like a betrayal, so far as Genn was concerned, not just as an ally but also as something more than that. Something Genn had thought himself privately, even though he had never dared to say as much aloud.

A confidant?

Yes, Genn had thought himself a confidant. Or hoped it rather. He thought he had served the young man loyally enough now, to deserve his trust?

And a small, retaining part of his heart gave way to admit that.

## 4.

“I am worried about the boy,” Genn told her, as her hands slid his coat off his shoulders and relieved him of the weight of the day with ease. “He’s become quiet and introspective since what happened with Darnassus.”

Mia’s expression was sympathetic, but stern. “I’m sure he is, Genn, but you need to keep in mind that anyone in his position would be troubled, whether you worry about him or not. You do the best you can to help, and I think he’s better off for it. You yourself have been troubled by it, I can tell.”

“Maybe so, but lately he has been completely…”

Genn couldn’t even think of a word for it. There probably wasn’t one. How could anyone possibly encompass everything wrong with the boy, in a single word? The image of a rabbit flickered through his memory, followed quickly by the taste of salty tears. He swallowed the lump in his throat and tried to ground himself here. Now.

Mia sighed, reluctant to indulge him, and hung his coat up on the hook on the back of the door. It was a gesture she had done for him for many years, even during those times she had resented him so deeply, for all he had done to push her away and conceal his secret.

“He will figure things out Genn. Just like you did.”

“Just like I did. And Look how well that turned out for me.”

His wife gave him a small smile, and held out her hands for his own. He offered them, without thinking twice of it, and she carefully unpinned the cuffs of his shirt while he watched her.

“Genn, don’t say that. You know at least we still have each other.”

This much, at least, was true. For the time being, Mia was staying in a cottage by Olivia’s Pond, amongst the elven refugees who loved her dearly, and Genn could steal down here as necessary when his presence wasn’t required in the Keep. The cottage was small, but warm and comfortable – it boasted a humble table, a stone hearth, and a bed with a straw mattress dressed in linen and wool. Beyond the city and across the sea, though, war was on the cusp of unfolding; there was something in the air that suggested Genn’s reprieve here, at this cosy humble home, would not last long.

Genn pushed the thought aside and dropped his hands, as Mia turned away to set his cuff pins on the table. Though she was aging, her body was still well formed under her shift, and her motions were just as astute as they had always been. Her cropped silver hair exposed the back of her neck, where the clasp of a silver chain was resting, and Genn found the detail was familiar - something he had seen countless times as he walked in the wake of the boy King.

 _He wears his mother’s locket under his shirt,_ Genn remembered. _And when he ties back his hair, it reveals the pale, transparent skin at his nape._

Guilt churned in him, even as he felt his chest swell with yearning. He stepped close, and slid his arms gently around Mia’s waist. His nose pressed against the soft skin behind her ear.

“I missed you,” He divulged, and he appreciated that she didn’t acknowledge the confession beyond her hands caressing his, her body paused in motion, waiting patiently to see what he would do next. “I missed you, when you were living so far away from me.”

He knew her well enough to know that she was smiling, without even needing to see her face. He thought it would be the small, contemplative smile she had when she was weighing her responses. Or the quiet smile of tolerance she wore when she was holding her tongue. She had tolerated more tribulation for his sake than any wife should have to, and Genn knew as much. As much as he adored her for it, it made it all the more terrible when he felt his heart begin to stray.

Without extracting herself from his embrace, Mia turned to face him, and rested her hands gently against his chest. Sure enough, the smile was there.

_A tired smile. A wary one._

“It’s always good to have you back.”

With her bosom pressed to his chest, the flood of amorousness in him swelled like a wave. He leaned in to kiss her, ardent and maybe more firmly than even he expected he would. She responded in kind, but there was a faint hesitance behind her lips. Genn slipped his left hand down the small of her back, over the curve of her behind and against her thigh. He gave her a squeeze, expecting to feel firm, soft flesh, but the meat of her didn’t feel as thick as he remembered. Her fingers on his chest curled, and for a moment it seemed like she would pull back from the kiss, but she relaxed into it again when he moved his hands from her lower body and brought them up to cup her face.

“You are just as beautiful as the day I married you.” He told her. “You know that?”

“You have a little more grey hair.” She said fondly. He kissed her again. And again. And again. Pressing his forehead against hers, he let his hands skate over her own, and he moved them from his chest to his sides where they would be out of the way and there would be nothing but clothing between them. Perhaps clothing was a little too much. With one hand splayed on her back between her shoulder blades, he loosened the laces at the front of his shirt with the other and closed the gap between their lips to kiss her again. Her hips were small, flush against his, and he felt her leg shift a little as she noticed he was hard, pressing keenly against her stomach. As his fingers moved to the collar of her shift, brushing over her nipple and cupping her breast in his hand, she pulled back from him with a sharp breath.

“I don’t think so, Genn. I appreciate your admiration but. Not tonight.”

Her countenance transformed, from easy and comfortable to guarded and cold. She extracted herself from his arms and turned away to tidy objects on a shelf instead. The objects were already tidy, but clearly she needed something to do to justify turning away from him. Genn felt the sting of rejection, and he asked before he could help it.

“Tomorrow then?”

Mia turned her head an increment, and he could see colour in her cheeks. Shame perhaps. Annoyance.

“Genn, we’ve talked about this. I won’t tomorrow, and I won’t any night. My body just can’t keep up with you, anymore.”

He sucked his back teeth, feeling heat creeping up his neck like fire climbs a tree in the night. A part of him had hoped, a part of him still hoped, that it wasn’t really over. He had hoped it from the first time she whispered to him, tangled in sheets, that as much as she loved him her tired frame wasn’t able to oblige him, any more. She loved him with the depth of decades, with the comfort of familiar arms and shared burdens, and she loved him in the way that a current loved the worn down stones of a riverbed. The crashing, foaming, whirling lust of their youth had left her, and her womb which had once bore life yielded nothing.

“My love –“ he began, his voice soft and whispered, and it was obvious that he was embarrassed by the rebuff. Mia cut him off, holding up a hand to silence him, and turned a little again so her body was still angled away, but she could face him.

“There are people in the city,” She told him, sensibly. “Young men or working women who can tend you better than I can. As long as you swear to come home to me… I promise you I don’t mind at all.”

“I will not,” The idea repulsed him, even as it was _deeply_ attractive. Her expression was pained, and he could tell she sought reassurance in his face, but it felt like his heart was breaking all over again at the prospect of the rest of his life without her touch. “I love _you_.”

_Don’t I?_

“And I love you Genn. With all I am. But all I am… it’s not the same anymore. You understand?”

Genn understood far too well.

## 5.

Anduin was waiting for him when he returned, dressed as a civilian in a plain tunic and heavy grey cloak. Somehow, in humble dress, no-one paid him any attention. Genn found this strange, considering how beautiful he was even clothed in rags. He did not scold or question him, for journeying to meet him alone, and in truth he was secretly quite flattered by the gesture. Anduin wanted to hear all of the details, pressing for information on the city that had risen from the clutch of the sea. More than once, Genn thought he saw a flicker of fascination in his eyes, that transgressed the boundaries of professional and political interest.

 _He had been a whimsical child once,_ Genn remembered _, prone to daydreams about ancient mythologies and the far reaches of cathedral of the cosmos_.

This was before expectation and statecraft became his mantle, and thinking about it Genn felt a strange nostalgia for a child he had never really known.

There was also a second shadow, through, this one far less benign, looming over his interest. Genn recognised the tenseness in his arm when he looped it through Genn’s own, and had looked upon his face enough in the past to note that recently, the soft bruises under his eyes had deepened to a stormy lilac. This shadow had to be the void, then, pressing on his mind. It was a voice with whispers more subtle than the breeze, yet more relentless than the waves where land met sea.

“It sounds as though Jaina has everything under control,” Anduin mused, as they strolled along the canals of the mage quarter, toward the keep. Fall was drawing fast over the Eastern Kingdoms, and Genn had noticed the harvest bonfire was already lit near to the stockade.

“She’s doing better, certainly.”

Genn thought that perhaps he should ask Anduin if he was okay, but he could already hear him brushing him off with an insistence that he was fine, just tired. Fighting a war was exhausting, after all.

Instead, he changed the subject.

“I see Hallows End has begun already.”

“Oh yes, I suppose it has. Clearly I haven’t been out much lately because I didn’t even notice.”

Anduin cast his eyes along the path they were on, touching briefly on the jack-o-lanterns grinning at them from the stoops of storefronts as they passed them by. The scent of sweet cinnamon and apple cider carried from the open windows of inns, and as they crossed over a bridge towards the cathedral district, Genn became aware of the quiet crunch of dry leaves underfoot – the oak trees that decorated the streets of the city were shedding their summer dress in preparation for a cold, dark winter.

“I must confess, neither did I. It is starting to become brisk, though.”

Genn felt a part of himself wince, at mention of the weather. Since when had he and Anduin been on such awkward terms? The conversation about what had happened with Saurfang had been difficult, but at least Anduin had expressed himself freely when asked. Now though, he kept his thoughts cloistered behind pursed lips. Genn could see from the glaze in his eyes that his thoughts were a million miles away, and for a moment he worried that the distance between them was the product of his own misjudgment.

When he failed to even acknowledge Genn’s comment, the Genn felt himself bristle.

 _Let him have his thoughts, then,_ he told himself. _It’s probably better that way._

Holding his tongue, it seemed, was just another way for Anduin to cause irritation. A strange shift, considering there had been countless incidents in the past where Genn had wished he would keep his opinions to himself.

“Terrible weather for sparring.”

Anduin's statement took him by surprise. Genn realised that he too had become lost in thought, and they had been strolling in silence together now for some time. Walking the streets of Stormwind was conducive to reflection, he supposed. Perhaps it was because of the canals, flowing with tranquil water, that showed a mirror of the psyche as well as the sky.

“What?”

“You mentioned the weather was cold earlier. I agree. It’s terrible weather for sparring.” Anduin swayed a little, letting his weight fall against Genn's arm for a moment before he righted himself and continued walking without acknowledging it. Genn's footsteps fell out of sync – the King of the Alliance was short, but had a quick stride, and Genn struggled to keep pace with him sometimes.

“And what of it? You still practice your swordsmanship in bad weather.”

“With a trainer, yes. But I suppose it’s a little melancholy that a whole summer has gone and I never got to lock swords with you.”

Was this really what had been cycling through his head just now?

Genn frowned, trying to ignore the way that his heart quickened beneath his breastbone.

“I... can come back from Boralus at your command, Your Majesty. You need not hesitate to summon me if you need, regardless of how trivial it may seem.”

This comment prompted Anduin to give him a small, sad smile. The sigh that flickered through the streets scuffed leaves over cobblestones, and lifted a few fair strands of hair back off his face.

“I’m grateful to have someone so faithful in my service.” He said sweetly, and Genn sucked a breath through his teeth when the grip on his arm tightened further still. The young king allowed his head to drop against Genn’s shoulder. His scent from this close was almost overwhelming, rendering the busy smells of the harvest season flat and distant and completely uninteresting. Genn recognized the odor of his soap and his sweat, and the familiar warmth of his blood coursing through his veins. It was a beautiful smell. A comforting smell. A smell that something deep in Genn’s core recognised as home.

But no, Genn’s home was far away from here. Far away from now. Genn was a nomad and Anduin was tired, but that was no excuse for this kind of behavior which was inappropriate in private, let alone when they walked through a public place.

“I’m not a headrest,” Genn told him stiffly, employing an elbow to nudge him away. “My service is faithful, but also within reason. Don’t forget that.”

Anduin seemed put out by this. He hesitated, coming to a stop and pulling Genn to still beside him as well, and the look on his face was stilted by bitterness. His shadow seemed longer and darker than it did before. Genn suddenly realised that although they were in a public place, there were no townsfolk out and about the streets this evening. The Guards that stood watch at the junction of arterial alleyways were out of sight and subsequently, out of mind.

“I can command you to cross an ocean and you will do it, but I may not seek you for warmth on a cold day?”

“there are some things a king can't command, Anduin.”

The young man’s eyes narrowed a little, the notch between his eyebrows attributable to annoyance or perhaps, the sting of being spurred. How relatable, Genn found that look. Uncomfotably so. With a small scowl, Anduin removed his arm from Genn's one and the place where they had been in contact lingered warm on Genn's arm even through his overcoat.

“Like what? Like peace? Like reconciliation? Like salvation for the dead? I’m not stupid, Genn. I am aware of what I can and cannot demand of you or anyone else.”

Demand. Command. Different words with different meanings. Demand felt so much more personal. Command rang with the coldness of a king leading armies. One might command another to take a life for justice or a cause. One might demand from someone a small blood sacrifice, to satiate a single appetite.

For some reason, these distinctions suddenly mattered very much.

“You can c _ommand_ my support in all things, your majesty. You can't _demand_ my affections.”

Anduin pressed his lips in a hard, thin line. He stepped close, narrowing the distance between them to a sliver, and with all the speed and elegance that Genn was well familiar with now he pressed his palm flat across Genn's mouth. Before Genn could push him away, he stood on his toes and pressed a short kiss against back of his hand.

“Then what value is there,” he asked gravely, “in being king?”

## 6.

“How is his training going?” Varian asked, as they shared dinner in his private receiving chamber in the Keep.

“It’s improving,” Genn told him honestly, breaking bread on the plate laid in front of him. “We still practice, but I think his growth is more because of the formal training, rather than my own guidance.”

It had taken Genn many months to accept that he was not a good teacher after all. Over the course of the year Varian had come and gone, Genn and Anduin had fought over swords repeatedly, but it had proven to be a battle of wits and endurance more than a battle of strength and skill. Genn was prone to losing his temper with the boy, and when pressed Anduin tended to lash out with magic that was terrifyingly powerful, given his age. There was something distinctly shameful about the exchanges, which had been cold and stiff and frustrating at first but gradually descended into an unspoken catharsis. Genn found himself looking forward to the mornings they would strife, not knowing whether Anduin would have him on his knees again, or if the prince would lie with his face in the dirt and his arms pinned roughly behind his back.

“Good,” Varian said. “That’s good. I worry about him a lot when I’m away. I’m glad to have you here to guide him.”

“The prince is... Like you in more ways than you think.”

Varian scoffed at that.

“I doubt that. He is the splitting image of his mother.”

“He’s splitting something, certainly. A handsome face hides a multitude of foibles.”

Varian’s brows furrowed at that – he had never been particularly skilled at grasping the concept of duality, which was ironic considering how such a nebulous idea explicitly defined him.

“What’s that supposed to mean?” he asked. Genn shrugged and bit into his chunk of bread.

“Priests,” he said simply. “Void and light. I don’t really understand it myself. It’s true he is as blessed as they say he is, but I can't tell if all this emphasis on his holiness is simply because no-one wants to admit he casts a shadow.”

Genn knew he could be mostly honest, with Varian. In fact, he thought that his friend would benefit, from a more raw and nuanced comment on his son. Varian, however, didn’t seem interested. He laughed a deep, dismissive laugh, and waved his hand at Genn as though he was trying to banish an annoying insect.

“I don’t know anything about that,” he said. “If Velen says he is gifted in the light, I can accept it. And although his flavour of gifts are foreign to me and not what I would have chosen for him myself, I have come to trust he will be a worthy heir to the throne.” He paused for a moment, and then continued.

“I’m relieved that’s what you meant to say though – for a moment I had thought you were implying something else.”

“What?” Genn chewed his food as he chewed his thoughts, trying to gauge Varian’s meaning but only casually. There was a plate of roasted rabbit on the table in front of him, and the smell was making his mouth water. 

“I’ve heard rumours of the company he has chosen to keep lately,” Varian said “Not all of them are pretty young innkeepers' daughters, I’m afraid. In fact, I haven't heard a word of even _one_ daughter, if you catch what I’m saying.”

Varian rubbed his jaw thoughtfully, eyes fixing on Genn's face across the table, and suddenly Genn understood why he had been summoned so urgently to dine with the king on this, his first night back in the city. He had _thought_ they would be discussing Guldan, but it seemed not...

“You worry he’s similar to me,” Genn asked cautiously. The last thing he wanted to do was plant this notion in Varian’s head, were he misreading the situation and it wasn’t actually there already. Varian did not respond, but Genn could see from the look in his eyes that he had in fact read the situation entirely correctly. Genn was surprised – he had never made a secret of his youthful embroilments, but had not realised that even someone like Varian knew of them. For some reason, the thought made him distinctly uncomfortable.

“What would be so terrible if he is?” Genn asked. “I enjoyed my youthful lovers, male and female alike. I knew my duty was to wed, and I did. I bore children. If we are the same, Anduin will feel no sorrow in taking a wife any more than laying with a stableboy.”

“And if you aren’t the same? If he _solely_ favours the company of stableboys?”

Genn didn’t know anything about that. All of this information was entirely news to him – he had no idea where Varian might have gotten this information from. Guards maybe?

“Have you asked him any of this?” he asked, rather than trying to conjure a solution. Varian sighed.

“No. I am afraid to. I worry he will think I am trying to criticize him, and he becomes quite cold when he thinks he is being challenged.”

Genn recalled the last time they had sparred, when Anduin had cast him against the side of a tree in the courtyard and bruised several of his ribs. The memory made his side twinge, even though the prince had healed him in the aftermath.

“Teenagers,” he said vaguely, “Are prone to dire mood swings.”

The two of them fell silent, eating and thinking their own private thoughts. Genn, pulled the plate of rabbit nearer, and began to eat, and it tasted wonderful, but it was not sufficient distraction to stop him from heading down that meandering path of questioning. Why was everyone else in Azeroth so reluctant to admit the boy was more complicated? It wasn’t as though he ever tried to hide himself, or how he was. In fact, he had always made a blatant point of being a stubborn menace.

Varian pulled him from his thoughts with a cough.

“Say, Genn. I have a question for you. Man to man.”

“... Go on.” Genn was suspicious of the way he said it, like he was on the verge of asking something bawdy, and unbefitting a king.

“Was it even remotely difficult for you? To take a wife permanently and forsake lying with men? I have never felt affinity for the male body, but even I must admit that in the heat of battle the line between the sweat of combat and the labour of fucking becomes... somewhat blurred.”

Genn found this question insulting, but he grit his teeth and gave an honest answer anyway.

“No. I loved Mia. I still do.”

“Even if she no longer warmed your bed, would you love her?”

“Of course. Sex and Love are different things. Do you love your whores?”

Varian laughed. “No more than you love yours.”

Oh, Varian was being particularly abrasive today. Genn, who had been raised genteel in spite of his own fiery nature, had always disliked how crass the king of Stormwind could be.

“I take no whores,” he insisted.

“Take my son, then, King Greymane. Someone must.”

Varian laughed, and raised his wineglass to his lips. It was an obvious joke, tasteless and aberrant, but Genn felt as though Varian had just gut punched him nonetheless.

“What?”

“If he will not take a woman, then I will be cold in my grave before I pass him to some stable boy. Let a _real_ man take him as a helpmeet. Someone like you would do.”

“Don’t be disgusting.” Genn said, conscious of how the meat in his belly suddenly felt quite soured. Varian sniggered into his cup.

They finished the rest of their dinner in silence.

## 7.

Genn used to hunt often, when he was younger. Silverpine forest was ideal for it, densely wooded and full of game. In his youth, he would set out with friends and mentors, and spend days on horseback hunting deer. Later, he would stalk and slaughter wild Worgen – a memory that tainted the sweet nostalgia of his youth. It did not spoil the memory enough though, and he could not decline the request that Anduin broached him with soon after the work to stabalise the wound in Silithus began. Genn assumed it was to distract himself – their sparring no longer seemed to relieve the tension he held in his lithe little frame. Anduin had never loved to hunt, often expressing disdain in the act of killing for sport, but hunting meant they could ride alone through endless trees and hills and medows. More importantly, it meant the two of them could be alone.

Anduin armed himself with the bow he favoured over his father’s sword. They dressed themselves in soft leathers and furs, and departed the city at dawn. Anduin was mounted on his own white stead, and Genn on a black mare that was almost as temperamental as he was. The young king was a spectacular rider, and his Reverence was faster than Genn remembered no matter how many times he saw her gallop. It was obvious from the very moment they left the city that the first thing on Anduin’s list of stuff to do was to race across the forest with the fury and speed of the wild hunt, and fortunately Genn was the companion who was least likely to stop him. Or rather, he was the companion least equipped to stop him – Genn had always been a proficient horseman, but proficient was far from excellent and the creature he had been provided was barely suitable for hunting with a band of peasants. As he trailed Anduin, who was tearing under the shadow of the tower of Azora, he felt the fresh prickle of cold air and spitting rain on his cheeks. Anduin's cloak billowed behind him, and he wore his hair loose so it coiled in the wind. Even from behind, he looked like an angel of burning glory, riding from the heavens to deliver sacred wrath.

“Genn!” he was laughing when he returned from his loop around the tower, his cheeks pink, his chest heaving with the exertion of the ride. “Are your old bones too weary to keep up today?”

“So it would seem,” Genn responded. “Also mind you don’t go too close to that tower. They say it has odd effects on objects that stray in its radius.”

“Isn’t that true of everything? We all affect the world around us to some degree, even if in imperceptible ways.”

Genn couldn’t help but smile, to see his mood so buoyant and teasing after an age of dreariness. Though the sky was grey and heavy, Anduin seemed warm and bright and alluring. Genn shrugged, and guided his horse to fall in beside him.

“Perhaps. But wasn’t the nature of this trip to affect an arrow in my dinner? We’ve been riding for hours and are yet to hunt. I’m surprised you didn't ‘accidentally’ leave your bow at home.”

“I respect your intelligence too much to construct such a farce. But if it pleases you, I suppose we can find a rabbit or two then set about to return to the keep.”

“Have you ever killed your own dinner before?” Genn asked him, suddenly curious.

“No.” Anduin's response was as he expected, but he did not seem sheepish or ashamed to admit his lack of experience in the primal act of slaughter. “Though I have foraged for food in the wilderness, and eaten berries that did no kindness to my belly.”

“Better that than eat flesh that sat heavy on your conscience, I suppose.”

“I think so too,” he gave Genn a sideways kind of smile. “but... I thought you have hunted many times? Gilneans are renowned huntsmen.”

“I have. They are. And the thing one learns fastest about hunting is that some kills are more regrettable than others.”

Genn had never told Anduin about the Worgen hunts, in the days before he had been beset by his curse. He assumed the boy had known of them - his father would have described the deeds when explaining his story. A story that Genn realised he still had not divulged himself. All the young king knew of him, his history before they met and forged their own bond with one another, was built on the foundation of a character that Varian would have laid down in malice. Genn wondered if this was a damnation, or a blessing. He tasted guilt in his mouth, metallic like blood, as he recalled the silver bullets loaded into the chambers of handwrought pistols. They had been the best devices for dispatching souls warped by the madness of the moons. Would Anduin detest him, for the weight of those rounds in the palm of his hand? Or would he pity him, in the way he pitied all wretched things he could not fully understand?

“I think all kills are regrettable,” Anduin replied placidly, as the shadowy shape of cairns standing in the distance rose out of the horizon. “Even necessary ones.”

“You concede some murder might be necessary?” Genn asked.

“Between the two of us?” he frowned, mood shifting suddenly from relaxed and open to serious and guarded. “I may concede that. You said you wanted dinner, did you not?”

He stopped his horse, and puzzled, Genn halted his own. He twisted in his saddle to look at him curiously. The leaves on the trees whispered conspirations overhead, the wind in the distance began to pick up, and a faint whistle echoed through the heart of the woods. Genn could smell oakmoss and earth, and the petrichor of an encroaching storm, and when the wind buffeted against Anduin's back Genn could smell his hair and his skin, and his sweat sinking into the fur lining of his cloak. He had a man’s scent, fully realised now, with none of the greenness Genn remembered when they had met. 

“I do want dinner,” He replied, tentatively.

Anduin's blue eyes swiveled to his, critical and appraising. His mouth was twisted into a downturn indicated these kinds of reflections had sobered his mood.

“So do I,” he admitted. “Riding like this has left me very hungry. And I’ve eaten all the fruit I brought in my pack.”

“So, shall we hunt, then?”

Anduin shook his head, almost imperceptibly, and slid his bow and quiver off his back. Genn’s brows pulled in confusion as he thrust his hand out, and made to offer him the weapon. Genn had always been a poor shot with an elven bow, preferring firearms or axes and later, claws and teeth. Why would Anduin offer him such a thing?

“Kill something for me,” He asked softly. “I don’t mind what. We can take meat, and return home by sundown. I’ve had a lovely day today, and I’d rather not spoil it by getting blood on my hands.”

“... Excuse me?”

Genn wasn’t sure how to process that. The proposal made his skin crawl strangely, or maybe it was just the chilling sharpness of those eyes piercing his soul. For a brief moment, Anduin looked so terrible. So lovely. An unbidden memory rose to the surface of Genn’s mind – a taste like salt, the sound of him panting when he grew tired in combat, and the way he could pin Genn against the ground with a darkness roiling deep in his eyes. It was uncanny, how easily he could blink and be effervescent again. All smiles. All goodness. All virtue. Genn felt like a he was nothing ore than prey, sometimes, udner his scrutiny. A body for subjugation and consumption, unaware oif the danger they were in until the split second before the killing blow.

“Kill something for me. For our dinner. There’s a rabbit over there by that tree, look.”

He pointed over Genn’s shoulder, at the rabbit in question. It was brown, and fat, and completely oblivious to the conversation happening about its mortal body.

“Why do you want me to use the bow?” Genn asked. “I can just get it with my teeth, it if you like.”

“I’m curious, Genn. I’ve never actually seen you shoot a bow.”

Genn stared at him for a moment, trying very hard to read his face. He could find nothing, though, that betrayed the machinations of his thinking. Genn swallowed, and notched an arrow from the quiver. He took aim at the rabbit, his sharp senses stepping to the forefront of his consciousness for just long enough to register the creatures heart pumping hot blood through its tiny body, and the rapid twitching of a sweet, curious nose. He was aware that the weapon was too light for him, unfamiliar in his broad, square hands. He could feel it longing for Anduin’s grip again, and Genn could sense that unlike the sword Anduin wore at his hip in ceremony, this delicate artifice was an extension of him and of his intention.

Genn noticed the glint at the tip when it released, arcing through the air and towards its target.

The point of the arrow was cast in gleaming silver.

It made a dull thunk when it struck home.

## 8.

The Prince had the scent of a youth on him – something Genn didn’t catch often, but remembered clearly. The young men in his memories were rougher than Anduin, they pedaled bread or shoed horses or sold leathers, but they all still had the fresh, sweetgrass scent of a child, overlaid by the silky warmth of cedar and surging blood. There was almost a flush of attraction in his perfume, the same sort Genn often smelled on a man recently lain with a women, and this was something he might have found very odd if he were to think about it. He was so accustomed to the smell of others bodies, however, that it barely even registered.

The only thing that mattered was that Anduin seemed more or less as troubled by the implications of the King’s proposal as Genn was, though he was decently adept at concealing it from everyone else. His shoulders remained set in a rigid square under too-big epaulets, and his eyes remained fixed on the maps and papers strewn across the war table in the center of the room. The barest twitch of his mouth was enough to tell Genn everything he needed to know.

Genn stood opposite the boy, at the right flank of the child’s father, the King, and looked downwards upon the child who was smaller in real life than Genn pictured him. He was only half listening to the batshit wizard Khadgar, and only half considering what kind of relevance that upset in some parallel dimension had to him - Varian seemed more invested in tactical discussions with his spymaster and the exarch, anyway. Like he was hardly conscious of what it was, exactly, he was asking.

“Your Majesty,” Genn interrupted, without taking his eyes of the teenager before him. “Before you go on to discuss things further, I should confirm that so far as I'm concerned, the implications of your plan as it stands are…?”

It was a bold assumption for Varian to make, and one that made Genn feel somewhat… bristly. At the same time, though, there was a cold, weighty sensation in the pit of his stomach. A revulsion that by any other name, might be an allure. Genn remembered another boy, he had known and cared for once upon a time. Another boy with Genn’s strong face, who now lay cold and dead and rotten in his grave.

The prince's eyes flickered up to meet his, and for a moment there was that ghost of a thought reflected in them – one that seemed sharper and much more exacting than he would have expected from someone so young. There was a shocking moment where he felt he had been violated, as though an arrowed mind had darted into his skull and plucked a memory from the current of his thoughts. It was gone again, though, as quickly as it had come on, and the young prince flushed pink and turned his eyes away. A fleeting taste of his smell fluttered across the room, mingling with the dusty scent of papers and stone and the familiar, aged odor of full-grown men.

Genn recalled, with strange discomfort, that this headstrong child had been known to cast himself across oceans because it was his want to do so. While it was true, that the prince was a great lover of magic and books and religion, and was hardly a great prodigy with a sword, Genn could never quite shake the feeling that there was something very fierce in him. Almost defiant. He supposed, in a way, that the child somewhat reminded him of himself. Similarity breeds contempt, he supposed. Or at least, a profound distrust. 

“If you are asking as to your duties to the prince while I am away,” King Varian answered him, as though he had not be bothered by his interruptions at all, “then perhaps we could discuss this _after_ the strategy matters. I still have need to organize meetings with Champions who might accompany us on the journey.”

“Yes, okay.” Genn disliked having his concerns being brushed aside for later discussion, but he wasn’t king here. Not anymore. “I suppose, we can discuss it then. that’s fair.”

Across the table, Anduin stood, still under Genn's unwavering stare.

## 9.

Genn stood outside the door ready to knock on it, his ears straining to hear anything from inside the room. He could hear that Anduin was definitely in there, he could hear the quiet sound of life that only really came to the forefront of his consciousness when he was seeking it, but whether or not the King was sleeping or if he was simply sitting very still, Genn had no way to tell at all.

He exhaled heavily, his heart throbbing at the back of his throat, and forced himself to rap his fist soft against the wood.

“Who is it?”

Anduin's voice was soft and clear – remarkably unwavering.

“It’s me.”

After a short moment of silence, a response.

“Come in.”

This time, he sounded different. Like his voice was made of thin, fragile glass.

When Genn stepped into the room, the was almost blinded by the sunset, pouring through the tall lead glass windows on the left-hand hand wall. Anduin was sitting on the end of his bed, only half dressed in pants and a loose-fitting shirt. He didn’t look up as Genn entered. He didn’t look up as Genn dug a small bottle of rum out of his coat, either.

“I uh... haven’t seen you for a while,” Genn said quietly, “I brought you a drink.”

“I don’t like rum,” Anduin told him. “You know that.”

“I do.”

Genn just wasn’t sure what else to do to apologise.

Anduin raised his face, locking his gaze with Genn and pinning him in place. The depths of his eyes were dark and endless. An uncanny void piercing through vibrant, crystalline blue. The air between them was beginning to coagulate with things unsaid. The weight of the sunset on his shoulders felt heavier than the weight of any axe or sword. 

“Will it help?”

“Maybe.” Genn chewed the inside of his cheek, drinking in the details of the room against his will. The soft, lambskin rug on the flagstone floor. The diamonds of golden light the windows cast on the wall. He could smell the smells of life and of Anduin – linen sheets and oranges in a bowl on the table and that divine, melting scent that distinguished his skin from the skin of another. It was stronger here than it was even when they practiced sparring in the courtyard. Even when they walked by the canals and a soft breeze lifted his hair off his face. Still, Genn refused to acknowledge it.

“I haven’t seen you in a little while. I’m sorry... things came up.”

For a moment it looked like Anduin might respond with scorn, his grief and anger became palpable, and terrible, but again, as always, it was swept aside. He sucked in a deep breath, and gestured to Genn to bring him the rum.

“Thank you.” He said, accepting the gift and examining the bottle in his hands idly, as if to inspect the label or spot any imperfections in the glass. “And thank you for coming up here. I thought…”

He trailed off, voice wavering..

“You thought?”

Anduin pulled his shoulders into a shrug. It was an indescribably uncharacteristic act, almost as hopeless and lost as Genn felt. It was as though he was shrugging off something like a costume, his entire countenance seemed to transform into one that Genn had never seen on him before.

Anduin Wrynn, nineteen years old and High King of the Alliance, began to cry.

Genn had no idea how to respond to this. He had never been adept at dealing with gentle emotions, let alone the vulnerable ones. Anduin cried with a silence more harrowing than if he had sobbed and wailed, crumpled over where he sat with his knuckles pressed against his eyes. Genn watched him shrink under the weight of his grief, and he felt the pull of resonant agony deep in his own belly in a brutal moment of clarity. It didn’t matter how many things he broke, how many men he killed, there was no bottom to the loss he felt every waking moment, and to recognise that same void of sorrow reflected back at him from a body so much younger, so much more full of life and light, was the cruelest thing he had felt in longer than he could remember. His motion to embrace the boy was instinct, over emotion, but he dropped down beside him on the edge of the bed in an instant. Anduin let himself be drawn into arms that had forgotten how to hold someone, as though he had been needing it his entire life.

“I’m sorry,” Genn told him, and Anduin's fingers twisted into his shirt. The wound on his breast ached dully under the weight of his touch – even the best healers the alliance had to offer hadn’t been able to knit the edges fully. Genn disliked the notion that it was because he was getting older, and healing magic didn’t take on him as well as it used to, but nor did he like the idea that the arrow had been wrought of some corrosive metal, or impregnated with an intention so hateful it lingered in his blood. “I’m so sorry.”

“You left me,” the king sounded angry through his tears. Whether he was angry because of what Genn had done, or angry at himself for crying, Genn had no way to tell. “my father fucking _died_ , and you ran away.”

“I didn’t think to come to you,” Genn said, knowing it was a weak excuse even as it came out of his mouth. Trying to find words was difficult – it felt as though his guts were being pulled out of the socket Sylvanas had punched in his chest. “I was... angry. Impulsive.”

“You’re _always_ angry,” Anduin told him, but his grip on Genn's shirt tightened and he pressed himself closer to him. Close enough that Genn could feel his hair tickling his cheek. “You could have died too, Genn. And then what would I have done?”

“Anduin.” this notion hit him harder than the arrow had. He tried not to let his thoughts linger on it, pushing the young man away and clutching his shoulders firmly so he could look into his flushed, tear-stained face. Even puffy and sorrowful, he was a handsome man, and already he looked older than he had the last time Genn had seen him. He was still just a prince, then, not yet king. “My life has less value than the stock you place on it – there are so many other advisors at your back, so many other people who can guide you in your duties. There are so many other, wiser men, who can help you stand tall while an old fool goes on a bitter tirade of vengeance. Just because I’m not here doesn’t mean you’re alone.”

Genn didn’t know how to convey this with more intensity. His hands on Anduin's shoulders tightened, and he felt his gut turn over when those endless blue eyes, fixed on his, became swallowed by dialing pupils blacker than the depths of the night. The intensity of the look the shared… it made his pulse race. Faster than it did in those moments of panic, flinging out a grasping hand for a body falling… falling….

_Gone._

The hands which gripped his face were firm, and reckless, just like the lips that were suddenly pressed urgently against his own. The taste of him, like honey, was overwhelming, and the sensation of a kiss was thoughtless ecstasy for a moment, spilling down his back and to the tips of his fingers and toes. His clutch on Anduin’s shoulders loosened, and he felt himself succumb, and he might have let the moment continue if not for the soft breath of pleasure he heard come out of his lips.

It was like hearing a whisper in the darkness, startling him from sleep in the night. The pulsing tide of bliss that moved through him froze in his veins, and faster than the youth had moved onto him he found himself parting them. Hhe stood up, and Anduin fell backwards against the mattress. Genn stared down at him in abject horror as he righted himself, and his pulse was racing and he hardly recognized the person before him with the startled blue eyes. The soft lips. Silken strands of long blonde hair falling in his face.

“Don’t do that.” He said hoarsely. “Don’t you e _ver_ do anything like that again.”

The King stared up at him, still unblinking in shock.

“I’m sorry,” He said, after a while. His voice was breathy and distant, as though he was thoroughly disorientated by the world he found on the other side of the kiss. “I’m sorry I... I don’t know what came over me.”

Genn felt himself flush, humiliated by how confidently the youth had laid hands on him like he was a harlot for hire in some backstreet bar. Anduin looked as though someone had slapped him, and indeed Genn had thought about doing exactly that, but in the end, he stayed his hand because the child was grieving. He was out of sorts. Clearly, he had been seized by a moment of insanity. 

It wasn’t as though it meant anything more than that.

## 10.

Genn watched him rifle through his papers, trying to pinpoint a fragment of information in a mountain of knowledge that far exceeded the length and breadth of Genn's own. The pages were all written in his tidy, well-educated hand, in tongues Genn didn’t even know the name of. Genn had always considered himself learned, familiar with several languages and the history of his people, but Anduin was a polyglot and a prodigy, in many cases in areas that weren't even relevant to ruling of kingdoms.

They sat in the libaray because it was a rainy day in Stormwind. A very peaceful one, too, which was a rare privilege. They had intended to spar together, but the weather had disrupted their plans. Genn couldn’t remember the last time they had shared a moment of peace, but now as he sat in the quiet space watching Anduin pour over ancient texts and letters from Khadgar, he couldn’t help but feel a tiny bit unsettled. It felt _wrong_ to be doing nothing right now. It felt unreal, considering the circumstances. Genn was glad that the the thick grey clouds obscured the misplaced planet argus, which hung in the firmament like fruit on a crooked cosmic tree.

“Don’t you feel restless,” Genn asked him suddenly, interrupting him when he was halfway through reading a page written in tidy runes. “just doing nothing while there’s an alien planet looming over the city?”

“There’s an alien planet looming over all the cities, Genn. I’m sure if you cared to check you’d be able to see the thing from Gilneas.” Anduin glanced up, a peevish little scowl at the edges of his lips. “I fail to see what fretting about it is going to do.”

“No more than what you're doing, I suppose.” Genn gestured to the papers, hesitated for a moment, and then asked. “What _are_ you doing?”

“Priest things,” Anduin answered dryly. “What are _you_ doing?”

“Bothering you, apparently.”

This put a crack in his cool façade. He rolled his eyes and the mask of seriousness slipped, as though it had never even been there in the first place. It was good to see him smile again, even reluctantly. He had been much more settled, since his pilgrimage to the broken shore.

“I’m looking at these prophecies,” He explained, as though it was a normal thing for a person to do. “I doubt I will have much luck with them, but I am... curious.”

“Prophecies?” Genn was wary of prophecies, but not half as wary as he was of the people who believed them over what they could see with their own eyes.

“Mmm. Reports from the Emerald Dream have passed through the hands of the druids, as well as many servants of the light. Velen gave me these, at my request.”

“And why would you request such a thing?”

“I’m just curious. There’s no need to look so grave, Genn. I can't make heads nor tails of them. The esotericism of the black empire eludes me still.”

And yet even as he said it, Genn saw a rueful thought flicker over his features. Perhaps he could make no sense of their words of prophecy, but Genn would have been one of the first to point out that in fact, Anduin had a strange sense of shadowy things deep in his soul. Anduin knew he knew this too, and he obviously realised that Genn was not going to be so easily deluded. He sighed, and closed the weighty tome he was reading.

“Don’t you have something you can do to occupy yourself?” he asked.

“I wish.”

“Take a daytrip to Darnassus? I’m sure Mia would love to see you.”

“Are you so keen to be rid of me?” Genn asked, trying to make out the title of the book he had been reading. Something about dark visions and the metaphysics of the psyche. Anduin shook his head and waved his hand at him, dismissing the question.

“Not at all. I just worry that if you give me too much attention, you will neglect more important things.”

“Oh, by all accounts that’s true. But you have a certain penchant for getting into trouble when I’m not watching you. If I leave today only to hear news you have walked into the Vindicaar unannounced, I will be extremely pissed off.”

“Genn.” Anduin gave him a look that was both fond, and irate. “I’m not some naughty child to be punished just because _you_ don’t like what I’m doing.”

“I don’t think I could punish you if I tried, honestly.”

“ _Would_ you care to try?” he arched his eyebrows. Genn scoffed, even though he found himself quite suddenly seized by a feeling he recognized. The same feeling he had experienced that night at Varian’s table.

 _Take my son then._ He had said. The last offering of a dead man. Unfortunate, it was a broken gift.

Genn remembered fleetingly the time Anduin had kissed him. The way he had felt forcing those points of light into his temples when he lost his temper in sword training. Anduin did smell delicious, freshly cleaned and heady with the perfumes of his soap and his hormones. At nearly nineteen, he was newly divested of the slightness that had defined his adolescence. Still short of stature, but well formed, he was now truly striking, and had acquired an uncanny knack for silencing a room if he so much as thought to speak. He silenced Genn now, too, with an intense gaze – the retort Genn had conjured died and turned to a shaky breath at the back of his throat.

Outside, the rain picked up, and the darkness pooling in the corners of the library seemed to deepen. Anduin still wore that curious, teasing expression, but Genn couldn’t help but notice something cunning shifting in the depths of his countenance. Genn shook his head, Anduin smirked at him, and sat back in his seat. Genn hadn't even noticed he had leaned forward across the table to engage him.

“I suppose you can keep me company,” He said lightly, moving to reopen his book again. “I could use some advice, by the by. Many of these books speak of monsters, and I know Gilneas has a long beast-hunting tradition. What do you think of the use of precious metals, to shackle mortal creatures corrupted by the void?”

## 11.

Anduin’s grip was like a steel trap, his blunt nails digging into Genn’s flesh like teeth in the meat of soft fruit. He was heavier than he looked, or maybe Genn was just weaker than he thought, and his body was sturdy and solid and moved like a machine for the gods. The bed against Genn’s back was firm, the sheets soft linen and scented like sex. Gossamer blonde hair tickled his jawline, lips slid over the shell of his ear. Anduin’s hand curled around his throat and squeezed softly – the unbidden threat of pleasure in the guise of panic – and the strong thighs either side of Genn’s hips tensed when Genn seized him around the waist and slammed him onto his back, against the mattress.

How long had it been, since Genn had felt the sweetness of a body inviting him? How long since he had touched someone not only clement of his desire, but even earnest? A year? Five years? A decade? All the time between now and then seemed to elastic band, spread out across lifetimes and happening in the blink of an eye simultaneously. Anduin gasped in shock to be overpowered, a tremor of desire passing through him with an electric intensity. He grabbed Genn's face and pulled him close, to kiss him in a way that was only tongue and no lips like he was trying to seek something beyond the reach of chastity. It was shockingly disgusting, horribly erotic, Genn’s skin crawled but his cock was harder than it had ever been in his life and it only ached more when Anduin pushed him away enough to haul shirt off his back and bare his chest to Genn's teeth. For all the prettiness in his face, the scars that adorned his torso were like cracks in a broken goblet. The waxy white tissue that knitted him together shone preternaturally in the firelight, and Genn couldn’t tell if it was a trick of his eyes or if there really was a white gold glow bleeding out of him, like a corona around an imploding star. He tasted like milk when Genn bit into him, but beneath unbroken skin the metallic hymn of his blood was dangerously tempting. Genn scared himself with how badly the monster in him wanted to split him open, and lick the carnage of his beauty from the inside of his ribcage.

Anduin closed the space between them again, arching up and rutting against Genn's hips, panting words that might have been _fuck me_ or might have been _I love you,_ and could have very easily been neither. The jut of his cock slid against Genn’s, Genn yanked his hair back and bit down on the side of his neck. A long moan slipped out of him, and Genn knew he wouldn’t be able to restrain himself any longer.

Fucking him was the worst kind of ecstasy. It was the natural progression of those times they had sparred, and Anduin had pinned him down with his heel on Genn's chest and tormented him with visions of twisted, haunted things. It was vengeance for the mountain of bodies Genn built his devotion on, glory in the name of those who were lost because Anduin was the kind of master who hid his darkness behind a vice-like lenience that ensnared anyone who thought he was too gentle to slaughter. And it was good in the way that stripping off heavy armour was good, in the way that a hot bath on a cold day was good, in the way that that first taste of sweet wine after a lifetime of temperance was good. Genn sunk into him with a moan that came from deeper than his chest. Anduin clutched at his hips, hair splayed on the pillow, and his magic grasped at the edges of Genn's psyche for anything he could use to ground himself. Even the bed, built of sturdy wood and iron braces, laboured under the force of their bodies in impact. Genn’s nails left furrows on the headboard, and Anduin chewed on his shoulders and chest like a devil seeking libations from a font of benediction. How terrible it was. How glorious.

Anduin came with a cry like a sob, his body twisted recklessly around Genn’s hips. The sensation was singular, unforgiveable and perfect in bizarre accord, and for a moment it was as though Anduin really _had_ been slit open, and all the warped dreams that made their home inside his torso were let loose, into the night. Genn didn’t notice the window cracking, or the half empty bottle of wine on the bedside shatter like it had been hit with a projectile, but he did feel his own release tear through him with a sensation like being torn apart and rebuilt again him.

He was a new creature now, even more cursed than he had been before, and even more powerful.

They lay together in the aftermath, skin sticky, hair wet, and Anduin kissed him everywhere he could reach with silent tears on his cheeks. When Genn caught his breath, and found the strength to reciprocate, they sublimated once again into a boundless, formless dark.

## 12.

The keep was strange to him now, like a pair of old boots he hadn’t worn for a little while. Genn had not felt any great love for Boralus, but the air there did remind him of home, and often he had found the sound of the sea had comforted him in a way the still air of the Alliance capital couldn't. Though Stormwind lay on the cusp of a sprawling harbour, it was too distant from the water for the sound to be audible, and even if it wasn’t the tides lacked the wild, mystic beauty of rocky shores and tumultuous green waters. Genn even missed the aqueous scent of the winds that blew in from the peaks of Stormsong Valley. He had never felt strongly about the scent of peacebloom, but tonight it seemed to longer everywhere and it felt heavy and slightly dusty on his palate.

Genn stalked the halls after darkness had fallen, unsure where to go to find his calm. The stone walls felt strangely oppressive, and even though the shadow of N’zoth had been banished the shadow of Anduin Wrynn still dwelt here – Genn hadn't seen him since the downfall of Azshara, yet he had received letters that were worrying in their coldness and their incoherence.

 _Genn,_ they read, and sometimes his hand would be broken by ink blots that spread like black roses blooming on parchment. _The creatures of the void ravage Pandaria. I think I dream of corruption harrowing the lands of my memories, but when I wake I can’t recall if I did, or if sleep is just an escape from the horrors of reality. Wrathion seems to think there might be hope to breach the gates of the hallowed city. All I can do is hold faith in the light that all will be well, and refuse to waiver. The light will guide my hand even as the stars sweep chill currents that make me shiver in the dark. Prepare to return to Stormwind any moment, should I ~~demand~~ command it. Devoutly yours, A._

Genn burned the letters, and wished he could burn away the fear they stirred in him, too.

By midnight, he found himself on the terrace that limned the courtyard, overlooking the lake below. He couldn’t hear anyone else moving through the Keep, and the solitude was a welcome even though he had spent countless hours over the last two years alone. Perhaps his heart had become accustomed to the space, where at first he had been bored and listless. Perhaps he grew weary of the presence of others, as he grew older and began to feel the compound burdens of a lifetime. Genn sat on a bench under the shadow of a bowed oak tree. When a quiet sigh of wind spirited through the promenade, it brought with it the faint smell of woodsmoke from the earth shrine far below.

Light, Genn was tired, and this spot was peaceful.

He might have drifted off to sleep where he sat, if he wasn’t disturbed by the shuffle of footfalls on flagstones. He recognised the sound of him immediately.

“Genn,”

How Anduin had known he was there before he saw him, Genn didn’t know. The king did not have particularly astute senses, no more than an ordinary human that is, and in the moonlight Genn had thought he blended well into the shadows. Genn, however, could see Anduin clearly – he wore naught but a tunic and soft leather slippers, as though he was on his way to bed, but Genn knew his chambers were on the other side of the keep and so, if he was here, he had come here for a reason. Had he come to pick himself a book from the library, maybe?

“Your Majesty. I didn’t expect to see you up at this hour, or I would have taken more care to look presentable.”

Anduin laughed at this, approaching him and gesturing that he need not stand.

“I’m not wearing any pants right now,” He said. “I think I can forgive you for not wearing your coat.”

“Hm.” Genn pressed his lips together, unsettled by the length of his tunic, the hem terminating midway down slim, creamy thighs. It was strange, to remain seated in his presence, and stranger still to find him looming ominously over him, blotting out the light from the moon so it haloed him in silver splendor.

“What are you doing up?” Genn asked.

“I was looking for you,” Anduin told him, and Genn appreciated that at least he didn’t lie. “I went to your rooms and you weren’t there. Youve been avoiding me since you got back.”

“Have I?”

“I’ve felt so, yes. Are you still mad about...”

He trailed off. They hadn't talked about the last time Genn had visited, and the curt words they exchanged because of what he had done.

“ _I’m married,”_ Genn had told him, “ _And you need to act in a manner more befitting a king.”_

And what of a manner more befitting a young man, never loved and never touched, with a strange angelic heart pumping ichor beneath his breastbone? Genn didn’t know. Why was he the one, who must bear the curse of his compulsions? Who must feel so hopelessly compelled by him, and his luminous darkness?

“I’m not mad,” Genn answered honestly. “I’ve just felt strange since coming back here. I was beginning to enjoy my small home in Boralus.”

“Your home is here, Genn. In Stormwind.”

“Even after midnight you find ways to vex me, Anduin.”

Anduin sighed and dropped down on the stone wrought bench beside him. His naked thigh pressed warm against Genn's, he could feel it even through the cotton of his trousers. His scent was rich, and narcotic, and redolent, just as Genn remembered. He smelled like a harlot. He smelled of the blood that he spent hours trying to scrub from the knuckles of his holy little hands.

“I don’t try to,” He said softly, and Genn’s heart ached to hear the defeat in his voice. “is that why you don’t want to talk to me?”

“I do want to talk to you,” Genn told him. “I’m just not sure it’s a good idea.”

“Why? Are you afraid of me?” he asked. In the moonlight, his skin looked like alabaster and his eyes looked like voids. He looked monstrous and beautiful and vulnerable and dreadful all at the exact same time. The strain on his mind had been so acute, under the influence of the old gods, and shadow of the spires of the sleeping city seemed to linger in him still.

“No.”

Anduin's eyes flicked to Genn’s face, drilling into him, plundering his psyche to detect if this was true. Genn steeled himself, but even so he felt the king latch onto a thought, and extract it like a needle being pulled out of his skin. He _hated_ it when Anduin did that.

“The line between fear and attraction is difficult to pin,” Genn told him shortly, heart shuddering to admit as much out loud. “But since we are baring ourselves this evening, I might well say you are the most insolent man I’ve ever met. Is there anything you wouldn’t pry from my mind, like silver from the grip of a dead man’s hand?”

Anduin groaned, slumping against Genn's arm, letting his head come to rest on his shoulder. His hair brushed against Genn’s cheek, sliding along the side of his neck. Genn felt his stomach turn over and his palms break out in sweat. He tried to think of Mia, sleeping peacefully in her cabin by the pond. If Genn stood up, he would be able to see it from here, but he did not stand up because Anduin's weight was heavy against him. It was strangely numbing. He was _very_ warm.

“I missed you,” Anduin confessed. “I always miss you.”

“Why? Because no one else yields to you as I do?”

“No one else resists me as much as you do, Genn. It’s always been like that.”

“And if I do give you what you want, will you be satisfied? Or will that blinding little light in you just swallow me whole, like everything else?”

“Don’t be so dramatic,” Anduin scolded him, “Do you think I’m a monster or something?”

“No. Yes. I don’t know.” Genn dragged his hand through his hair in frustration. “Sometimes I think _I_ might be.”

“For wanting me?”

Genn had never said as much in explicit terms, but he had always known it was true.

“For lots of things,” he said instead. “For being willing to warp my entire will for you. For killing in your name.”

“Some kills are more regrettable than others” he mused quietly, and genn couldn’t help but be drawn to him. Enraptured by the way his lips looked pillowed and sweet and welcoming, even though the darkness.

Genn felt his footing slip, where he stood on the edge of a dark, deep place, and he was too tired to even try and stop himself from falling into its depths. He leaned in and kissed the mouth that tasted like silver and regret and unforgiveable decisions, and the dust that burst in plumes from the heart of dying stars, and after a moments shock he was comforted to feel Anduin Wrynn kissing him back.

## 13.

The fallout from the fire was incalculable.

Genn hadn't slept for hours and hours, and he knew he almost certainly looked it, but Anduin was starting to look like something not even of this world.

His fatigue was obvious in his countenance, yes, his clothing sweaty and covered in ash, his hair lank and disheveled against his scalp, but Anduin had worked so hard to heal the wounded that the remnants of his magic was hemorrhaging on the surface of his skin. He bore a hazy golden glow around his edges, blurring him and making him shimmer like a mirage or illusion, and to Genn’s tired eyes he looked an awful lot like a reflection of the sun. The orange glow of the real sunrise was far too much like fire, though. The acrid odor of burnt wood lingered, as though the smoke of Darnassus was in the wind here, too.

They took respite by the water, in the shadow of the keep. It was far away from the chaos of the open wards, peaceful in the incandescent dawn. A soothing breeze rustled through Genn’s clothing as he followed the young man to the water’s edge, and watched him drop down to his knees in exhaustion. With how cold it was out here, Genn became aware that he seemed to have misplaced his coat. He hoped he had left it at Mia’s bedside, or at least that it would be found again by someone who would know who to return it to.

He sat down at the water's edge next to Anduin, unspeaking, and did not pull away when he felt a shaking hand seeking for his own. Anduin laced their fingers together wordlessly, and Genn let him. They sat in silence, watching the dawn, still tasting the smoke even though the air was fresh here, and clear. Anduin did not cry, but he quivered like a tuning fork struck on a stone. Genn felt the air prickle around him, in a way that made his own throat feel tight and choked with grief.

“Genn,” Anduin squeezed his hand – a grounding point, one that Genn too was grateful for as the adrenaline began to ebb from his blood and his misery began to steal through his bones. The young man’s voice was dry, cracking from the strain of the evening they had endured. Or rather, the evening they had watched others endure.

“Mmm?”

“What’s the worst thing you’ve ever done?”

Genn hadn't been expecting such a line of question right now. It seemed incongruous with the atmosphere, or at least slightly disjointed. Had witnessing such great evil planted a seed of the theodical in the soil of his mind? Maybe. But Anduin’s thoughts did tend to unfold in the strangest, most haunting of ways.

“I don’t know,” Genn told him honestly, turning to regard the youth in profile. Anduin’s gaze was unfocused, staring straight into the sun like he didn't see the world before him. Everything about him was still so achingly beautiful, even buried deep in the ugliness of remorse. Genn had always thought him most exquisite in agony, and he knew it was shameful and sadistic to think such a thing. He certainly bore his sorrow better than he bore his plate, at least. Genn thought that maybe sadness vulcanized him. Did not warriors repeatedly shatter their bones so they would back stronger? Did not monks seek fracture training in order to make their knuckles denser and more mangled? The story went that it made for better punches. Was it likely this moment would make Anduin stronger too? Or maybe it would warp him in a way that would make him unrecognizable. More than anything, Genn feared it would only make him more familiar than he was right now.

Genn thought of Sylvanas. He thought of the letter that Varian had given him at the hour of his dying. He thought of any number of things, that had led them to this moment, and all of the things he could have done to stop it. Genn thought he might have given anything, to protect the boy from ever having to know such atrocities. He thought of Mia, returned to him even though he didn’t deserve her goodness, and he thought of the son he had failed to protect so many years ago. He thought of the kiss. How he had liked it.

Genn thought of the rabbit.

He faltered.

“That’s a good question,” he said, “And I don’t know how to answer. Though if we are being completely honest, I probably haven't even done it, yet.”


End file.
